


we found each other in the dark

by somefinditodd



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, like a giant fluffathon, surprisingly mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-10-30 21:05:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somefinditodd/pseuds/somefinditodd
Summary: At first there is nothing but small wisps of smoke from the crater, steam surges from the surface to obscure what exactly it is in the middle.Bravely, stupidly, the trio move forward in unison to peer down. Then they see it.A small figure is hunched, clothes ripped, dark smattering of blood from her lips and her abdomen. God, how is it that they end up finding a dead girl in what was supposed to be a relaxing getaway?orwhere modern AU Clarke finds canon Lexa





	1. I

There is a large crater on the ground from the impact. Whatever is there, Clarke Griffin knows immediately it’s not something they should be tampering with.

Could it be some type of alien creature from a far away planet that has realised the idiotic nature of human beings? Are they coming to wipe them out? She shakes her head momentarily, chastising herself for spending all that time watching terrible science fiction movies with Monty and Jasper.

Beside her, her friend wears an equally shocked and horrified expression on her face that is surely mirrored in her own.

Raven Reyes gives a longing glance towards the direction of their tent, not far in the distance. As if she wasn’t just complaining about being stuck camping in a “barren wasteland with no internet connection” a few hours ago.

Octavia Blake, the youngest of the group, gulps as she watches the last of the billowing smoke clear.

“What the fuck was that?” Raven’s eyes widen as she attempts to shuffle from her position on the ground.The severity of the actual landing was so dramatically forceful that, upon colliding with the earthy surface of the ground, the force managed to knock out a few feet of trees and three very befuddled girls.

“I don’t know.” Clarke whispers, though they are a good distance away from the commotion, as if whatever is in there will be able to hear her.

“Well, go look!” someone whispers again harshly, because apparently this is the volume they’ve agreed upon.

At first there is nothing but small wisps of smoke from the crater, steam surges from the surface to obscure what exactly it is in the middle.

Bravely, stupidly, the trio move forward in unison to peer down. Then they see it.

A small figure is hunched, clothes ripped, dark smattering of blood from her lips and her abdomen. God, how is it that they end up finding a dead girl in what was supposed to be a relaxing getaway?

Except the girl isn’t dead at all. She twitches, once, twice.

After a stuttered moment of shock, Clarke’s instincts take over and she moves to walk to the girl. Check her pupils, motor responses, breathing. Her hand skims along the girl’s abdominal muscles for the source of bleeding.

Black. What she had initially assumed was due to the darkness of the night turns out to be a more bizarre predicament. The girl’s blood is black.

“What the fuck,” She mutters under a shallow breath, holding her hand against the light of the moon.

“Is she dead?” Raven croaks from a few feet away. It is then she’s reminded that her two confused and afraid friends are still there.

“Help me lift her.” Clarke decides that saving this girl is their first priority. Solving the accumulation of mystery around her will have to be done later. Clarke reaches for her shirt with haste, pulling it off to apply pressure to the girl’s stomach.

As they manage, with much effort, to gently lift the girl, there is a soft clink of something solid dropping against the surface of the ground.

Octavia pulls away momentarily to retrieve the item, carefully inspecting it before gasping out, "Guys, this is a fucking sword."

"A sword. Why does she have a sword?!" Raven bellows, almost dropping a leg.

"I don't know!"

"Enough!" Clarke interrupts. "Save now. Questions later."

And, holy shit, did they have questions.

It’s a few moments later, after a series of panicked and breathy, “Oh my god, oh my god, what are we doing?” From Raven that they manage to lay the girl at the backseat of Clarke’s car.

She calculates exactly how long it would take for them to get back to the city, or even an area with a strong enough signal to make a phone call and hopes they make it in due time.

Octavia, having lost a hurried game of rock-paper-scissors with Raven, sits awkwardly with the tattered stranger while occasionally pressing her fingers for a pulse while her other hand gripped on the very heavy and very real sheathed sword.

Abigail Griffin considers herself to be a decent parent. Sure, being a doctor and a single parent has its inevitable disadvantages. She can recall a handful of broken promises and missed recitals. She never admitted to being a perfect parent. But at any time that her daughter had openly expressed distress-- which, over time had become rarer and rarer, she dropped everything to get to her.

“Clarke!” At the front of the hospital building stood the doctor, with her hands in the pockets of her labcoat and a sense of worry and urgency in her voice. “Are you alright?” She cups her daughter’s face, looking for any signs of damage. When she got an emergency call only a few minutes prior, it was from Raven with clear panic and helplessness.

“Mrs Griffin, are you in the hospital right now?”

“Yes, I-”

“We’re coming over. Wait outside in 20 minutes and we’ll be right over.”

There was a brief silence from the line, Raven’s uneven breathing and the familiar clank and whir of Clarke’s car engine echoed unsoothingly before it’s promptly cut off. And Abby bolts through the doors and down to the front of the building.

"I'm fine, mom." Clarke sighs, gently prying her mother's hand from her face. Abby ignores the small stab of pain the action elicits and shifts her attention to two panicked girls hastily pulling a body from the backseat of her daughter's car.

"A little help?" Raven manages to breathe out with a highly inappropriate smile.

They stand uselessly in the halls of the hospital, exchanging unsure and bewildered glances but unable to verbalise anything yet. Did that really just happen?

Doctor Griffin arrives with questions none of them are sure they can fully answer.

But to get the facts straight: they intended to have a fully relaxing, stress free weekend camping and "being one with the nature" (Raven made sure to include with an exaggerated eye roll) when what they thought was some kind of shooting star landed about a mile away from their camp. Raven, being a giant nerd, wanted to collect some samples "to display on some glass box or whatever nerds do with that shit" (Octavia contributed). As it turns out, not a shooting star, nor some type of astral rock. A human person, bleeding black is what greeted them.

Her mother could only stare back questioningly. She knows, had she not brought evidence, she would be admitted up on the psych ward on the 4th floor.

They're dismissed for the night and despite the quiet protest rising from her chest, Clarke concedes when her mother promises to give her an update the next day.

She drops Raven and Octavia home, it's surprisingly a quiet and almost peaceful affair as they drive down in darkness but the streetlamps and muted neon lights passing them. No one says anything as they sit and listen to the thrum of her engine and Octavia's light snores.

Clarke doesn't sleep that night, her thoughts occupied by the girl and her black blood. Her thoughts are shadowed by questions and a sense of worry. She really needs to stop worrying about strangers.

_She’s awake. Won’t speak to anyone but her ‘saviors’._

The text on the screen blinks back at her, her half conscious brain fails to register immediately what her mother’s text could possibly mean. Then it hits her. It was real.

After the quickest shower of her life and randomly grabbing a breakfast bar she bolts to make her way to the hospital. When she gets there, Raven is already by the door speaking to her mother.

“Hey.”

“My fellow savior!” Her friend greets, a few decibels louder than she would’ve liked that early in the morning.

“Have you spoken to her?”

“Hello daughter, nice to see you too.”

“Hi mom. Have you spoken to her?”

“Not yet. We don’t want to overwhelm her. I think it would be best if only one of you would go in first and we’ll start with a calmer approach.” Raven nods, not really seeming to register the tone of the older Griffin. “That means no asking about the swords, Raven.”

“-- what else could be more important--”

“Her name....”

“Why she has black blood…”

“--than the fact that she has a fricking weapon strapped onto her? Like an actual wielded blade.”

The doctor shakes her head in exasperation. “I guess that narrows our choice between Clarke and Octavia.”

Just then, Octavia arrives with a cup of coffee in her hand. “Did you guys already ask about the sword?”

They decided Clarke should go.

She has no idea why she expected the girl to look the same as she did when they found her half dead. Now, with her face scrubbed from dirt and blood and… actually conscious, she looks better. Healthier. Somehow younger than she originally thought. She realizes after a few seconds of awkward silence that she’s just been staring rather creepily.

"Hello." Stumbles from her mouth. The girl looks at her, eyes light and inquisitive despite the heaviness of her circumstances, but remains silent. Alright, so she’s not much of a talker. "My name is Clarke. I, uh, we were the ones that found you."

"Clarke." She repeats after a pause. The syllable is uttered with such solemnity that it almost makes her reel back in response.

"That's my name." Clarke smiles with an amused expression, her tone lighthearted "Now you tell me yours."

She picks up on the girl's fondness of dramatic pauses when their gazes lock. For a devastating second she thinks she won't get a response before it comes, quiet and clear.

"Lexa."

"Do you have a last name, Lexa?"

The girl tilts her head in question.

"I'm known as Lexa kom Trikru."

Clarke nods slowly, rolling the unfamiliar syllables in her tongue. "You're not from here?"

"To be honest Clarke, I'm not sure where I am."

  
  
  
  



	2. II

For some unexplained reason, Clarke feels at least partially responsible for the girl who seems to be equally as unable to answer their questions.

Here are the facts: Upon receiving a strange girl rushed in the hospital by her panicked daughter and even more panicked friends, Doctor Griffin and her team were able to successfully remove the bullet that caused the bleeding. Said blood was black which almost had the assisting nurse faint upon sight. After a few days of being able to extract only numbered words (mostly exclusively by Clarke) from the girl, they have deduced that either the girl has also suffered some type of head trauma or she really hasn’t seen an iPhone in her life. She hasn’t really provided anything else past her name.

"So, there's no record of this girl? Where she lives?" It’s been a few weeks of alternating between going to class, her shift in the café, and the hospital. The police have been involved to take the sword into evidence for now, despite Raven and Octavia’s devastated gasps, finding no criminal records matching her prints (which had Clarke secretly sighing in relief) but they can’t exactly keep her in a cell until they know more about her.

"No." is followed by "And she needs an allotted place to stay if she wants to be discharged."

Clarke looks at the girl in the room, eyes closed and a small frown of worry in her face as if struggling with... something. “Right now, I’m sure everything for her is overwhelming. Some type of normalcy might be good.”  There's a pang of concern and the innate need to just fix things that slithers in her body and forces her mouth to say, "She can stay with me."

Abby looks at her as if she's grown a second head.

And maybe, she has.

"Dude her blood is black! I thought the protocol for this was to immediately call the government and have very inhumane scientific testing on her." Raven half exclaims. And Clarke really hopes her friend is joking. Maybe Raven has also been having sci-fi marathons with Monty and Jasper.  

"And she has a sword. Let's not forget about the sword." Octavia chimes with genuine intrigue in her voice, that is backed up by Raven's "Yes! What's up with the sword?" The pair proceeds to list the reasons of why taking the girl in (though temporarily) is a bad idea.

"Griffin, I get that she's pretty but she could be a killer!"

"Yes! A sword-wielding killer!"

Sometimes she wonders how she’s acquired such a dramatic pair of friends. “She has no seedy records and she’s been cleared from psych.” She explains calmly, then, as if an afterthought: “And she has no one.”

They stop and stare at her before sharing a guilty look that she doesn't quite understand.

It doesn’t prove to be particularly difficult convincing Lexa to stay with her, seeing as the girl didn’t seem too fond of the constant beeping and invasive nurses in the fluorescent lit hospital.

"So, this is home." Clarke gestures vaguely as she unlocks the door to the small apartment, immediately feeling self conscious about the disarray of dishes and haphazardly scattered medical textbooks on the table. She hopes a random underwear doesn’t pop into sight. She really didn’t prepare to have a roommate.

Lexa walks in slowly, taking in the surroundings as if completely alien. She turns to Clarke with a soft expression and a very cordial "thank you". There’s something about the way the soft evening light is filtered through the blinds that makes her eyes seem a shade lighter, a color uniquely striking that makes Clarke’s chest feel tighter and her throat dry.

The shrill noise from the table startles them. Clarke catches a glimpse of a familiar face lighting up on the screen, feeling a cold stir of dread in her stomach before reaching for it.

"Princess is alive." The voice drawls confidently, "What happened to calling me as soon as you get back?" He doesn't say it with any hint of malice, the underlying tone of affection and worry in his voice-- which once sent warmth and comfort-- is replaced with the feeling of suffocation.

"Finn," Clarke sighs, closing her eyes and putting pressure on her temples with her free hand.

Next to her, Lexa, sensing the shift in mood walks away to observe the books in her shelf with a delicate brush of her fingers. There isn't a lot of room to give privacy to the call but Clarke silently appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

"I meant to call you," It's a lie. "It's just, there's been a lot of things that happened. I don't know how to explain--"

"It's the girl, right?"

"What?" It startles her the way he blurts it out so casually that she stutters guiltily for no reason at all. She sees Lexa's hand pause in her periphery. "There's no...girl..." Also, technically, a lie.

"Raven told me you rescued a girl."

Oh.

Of course. Of course Raven would tell him. She gives a quick summary of the events from her perspective and, upon realizing Raven hasn’t filled him in with the… updated version, conveniently leaves the part about Lexa’s living arrangements. It’s only temporary anyway.

The phone call ends with few more short exchanges of forced niceties (god, how did they get to this point?) and a vague promise of meeting up sometime in the week.

It doesn’t turn out to be as awkward as she expected. Despite the modest size of her apartment, Lexa doesn’t impose or disrupt her from doing her usual thing, seemingly content with perusing some books that caught her interest. _‘How to Make Friends and Influence People’_ sits on her lap as she reads languidly and with quite some interest. As the other girl absorbs the book, Clarke busies herself by grabbing a pillow from her bed and a few spare blankets to lay on the couch.

“This will have to do for now until I get you, like, a proper mattress. But it should be pretty comfortable.” The girl looks up from her book and gently rests it on the table. For some reason her couch-blanket-pillow setup seems inadequate for Lexa, who even while wearing stolen scrubs from the hospital, manages to look like some royal heir to a far away country that no one can pronounce.

“It’s wonderful. Thank you, Clarke.”

In the morning, Lexa is already up before her, sitting on the breakfast stool and staring out the window. Somehow she senses Clarke’s presence without even glancing towards her direction.

“Good morning, Clarke.”

Clarke makes her way to the island to get the coffee started, pausing before the cabinet and deciding to grab two cups. “Sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you Clarke.”

“You know, you don’t have to say my name after every sentence right?”

“Oh… I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

Clarke is just about to respond, perhaps with something awkward like ‘no, it just gives me confusing feelings when you say my name’, but she is thankfully interrupted by her apartment door slamming open.

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything.” Raven walks in, clearly having absolutely no regard to whether or not she has interrupted something. Which she hasn’t. Behind her, Octavia follows with a handful of bags filled with…

“What’s in the bags?”

“Oh, just necessary stuff.” Is the extremely  unhelpful response she gets. Apparently they’ve claimed the small floor space just below the couch for themselves as they shuffle things around. “Really?” Raven holds a bright pink jogging pants with the phrase ‘bubble butt’ printed at the back.

“It’s cute!” Octavia responds before folding the piece of clothing and setting it on one pile. “We got Lexa clothes.” She finally explains to Clarke standing over them with her arms crossed.

“You didn’t have to-”

“She can’t be walking around the city with those hideous scrubs-- no offense Lexa”

“She needs clothes...and an identity.”

They sit in small and very uncomfortable plastic chairs laid in rows with the loud bustle and chatter as their background noise.

"I hate these types of places." Octavia grumbles as soon as her body made contact with the chair.

Clarke makes a noise of agreement, clutching the piece of paper in her hand and looking up at the screen, where it displays in bold, bright neon the number '22'.

The stub in her hand reads: GUEST 67.

"Well, we need to get her an I.D. She can't just be going around without something as basic as that." She sighs, taking a glance at the girl in question who sits next to her patiently. From the elephantine pile of clothing brought earlier that morning, they managed to pick out a sensible outfit: a plain white button up shirt and some slacks that Octavia used for job interviews. And she cleans up pretty well. Clarke makes a mental note on her ‘Lexa’s possible identity’ list, maybe some important business person somewhere. She certainly has the cheekbones for it. Not that cheekbones are a prerequisite for being a good business person. Somehow Lexa manages to stand out amongst the disgruntled hubbub of the public, completely unaware by the gapes of admiration she seems to gather from strangers.

The whole scenario is quite absurd, as they sit there with a mix of absolute patience (Lexa) and almost a chaotic level of restlessness (Octavia), Raven takes on the task of filling the form.

"Lexa, what's your last name?"

"I don't understand this question."

Raven gives an exasperated sigh before scrawling something on the form. Octavia peeks before bursting into laughter (that earns a few stern glares).

"Lexa Woods?"

"What's wrong with that? It's where we found her."

"That's absurd. No one will buy it."

"Look at her, she totally looks like a Lexa Woods."

And, when that was settled:

"Do you know your weight?" She mumbles almost absentmindedly as she scribbles 'green' on a section about eye color.

"You cannot lift me, Raven."

"That's not why I asked, Lexa."

"Oh my god." Octavia groans, grabbing the form from Raven no doubt to fill it quietly.

"I could totally lift her."

"Shut up, Raven."

They get back to Clarke’s apartment in one piece, with Lexa’s freshly printed ID and a few more forms.

“I believe a celebration is in due order.” Raven smirks conspiratorially to no one in particular. At some point during their journey from the DMV and Clarke’s apartment, she must have snuck into a liquor store. That or she has acquired powers that involve somehow materialising a bottle of tequila. Which would be a very dangerous power upon Raven Reyes’ hands. “Now, we don’t know a whole lot about you, Lexa. But we need to build up your identity before sending you off as a functioning member of society.” Clarke is surprised Raven is not already drunk as she watches her friend make a passionate speech while expertly maneuvering to grab four shot glasses. She lines them up in a row and pours an even amount of the alcohol right up to the rim with impressive precision. “So this brings us to the most important question of all. A question that both scientists and seculars have fought and mulled over for years: how well can Lexa Woods handle her drink?”

Very well, it turns out.

After a competitive round of taking shots, which Clarke has astutely refused, Octavia is passed out against the table while Raven stubbornly downs a shaky shot along with an unfazed Lexa. When they both swallow the fiery liquid, Raven scribbles the score on the tequila stained notepad:

_R- 7, L-7_

“Raven, this is really stupid.”

“No, not stupid.” Is the slurred response. “Research.” before she rests a cheek on Octavia’s arm. “I need a nap.”

By three in the morning, just as the night begins to fade, Raven and Octavia are slumped against the couch. Clarke has seen them on this state many times to know they’ll most likely be unconscious until the afternoon. She grabs the folded blanket from the arm of the couch and drapes it over her friends with a fond smile.

“Your… friends. You’re very close to them.” Comes a voice from behind.

Clarke looks down at her friends with muted adoration, only for a few seconds because she’s afraid Raven might wake up and will surely tease her about it for the rest of their lives.

“Of course. They’re my best friends.” And she turns to Lexa, who, apart from a few loosened buttons on her shirt seems to be mostly sober. “How on earth did you manage to outdrink them?”

The other girl simply shrugs in response, not really an unusual thing except the small smile tugging from her lips before it turns into a slight frown. “They stole my bed.”

Lexa’s second night turns out to be a little more awkward. Clarke shuffles a little on the bed to face the other girl, who lies looking almost unnaturally still near the edge with her eyes closed.

“Are you really comfortable like that?” the blonde asks, propping a cheek  against her palm curiously.

Lexa’s eyes open and even with only the dim streetlight outside Clarke senses a waver of contemplation when she parts her lips, as if to say something, only to close them again.

When she realizes she won’t get an actual verbal answer, she surrenders to the heaviness of her eyelids.

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

The response comes, so quietly she’s not sure she actually heard it.

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the response you've given to the story. I really didn't expect this many people to take interest (and, to be honest I briefly internally debated whether or not the story was too absurd to see the light of day). But it's been a blast reading the comments and people's theories-- you guys are far too clever.


	3. III

After a few weeks, they actually start a routine of some sort. From a handful of mornings observing Clarke’s daily routine, which involves navigating with the filter and coffee grounds, Lexa manages to work the machine so that a fresh batch is made just as the other girl wakes up. It’s an odd experience, after living by herself for so long, to have someone else do something she usually does herself.

Lexa is a quick learner. Clarke considers getting her some shifts in the café later on. It might be good for her and Clarke has been feeling a little guilty for leaving Lexa on her lonesome everyday. But she shouldn’t think of her as some newly acquired puppy even though sometimes, when Lexa stares at her with those wide eyes, she can’t help but make the comparison. Lexa manages to fill her time by going through the sparse array of books in Clarke’s shelf. Literally any book from the tattered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ to _At Home Candlemaking_ (an inebriated buy that would make Clarke feel embarrassed had it not been for how engaging Lexa seemed to find the book).

“I’m home.” She pants, bags of groceries clutched on both arms as she she barely manages to navigate the door to stay open. That’s a weird new thing, too. Having someone to come home to. Clarke never really looked forward to moving in with a significant other, she’s always tended to value her own space and privacy. Not that they’re some sort of couple. But Lexa’s presence in her home has been… pleasant.

“Hello, Clarke.” Lexa looks up from the television screen as Clarke manages to successfully rest the groceries at the kitchen counter. “How was your day?” She asks the girl who plops down on the couch next to her with a sigh.

“Terrible.” It was. They got a new hire, some kid named Murphy. He was decent enough with the job, but had the worst attitude that makes her wonder what on earth possessed Jaha to hire the kid in the first place. They got the most amount of customer complaints that day. “But, let’s talk about something else. What did you do today?” She tries to meet the other girl’s gaze, but it’s hard to make eye contact when someone is staring down.

Usually Lexa would give some charming single word or phrase as an answer, but her dramatic pause seems longer than usual. She follows the girl’s gaze and, oh. Shit. She wasn’t really paying attention to what she was doing while having that flashback about Murphy’s sour attitude that she wasn’t able to stop her hand from resting on whatever is near. Which isn’t the arm of the sofa like a normal human being perhaps might choose, no.

And now both she and Lexa stare in horror (Clarke) and … a really good poker face (Lexa) at the hand resting on the Lexa’s thigh. On her _thigh_. Clarke pulls her hand back immediately. The silence between them is so prominent that the sound of the television playing in the background seems almost thunderous.

Clarke chooses to wait a few more seconds, perhaps hoping the tension will naturally diffuse itself. She tries to focus on whatever show is playing on the television, some superficial romance sitcom that seems safe enough. But the couple on the screen are having a moment, looking into each other’s eyes and moving their faces together while the audience nearly shrieks with elation before drawing apart abruptly by the door slamming open and some depthless comic-relief character bellowing their catchphrase. Clarke stands up in the most unnatural way and human being might stand up.

“Uh, yeah. It’s pretty late actually. I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Alright.” Lexa politely accepts her lame excuse.

“Alright. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

The television, as if trying to mess with them, blares out the most obnoxious laugh track that taunts Clarke before she can shut her bedroom door.

Later that night, Clarke would creep out of her room to quietly put away the grocery she left on the counter, taking herculean effort not to groan at the melted tub of ice cream which she mournfully shoves to the trashcan.

“Extra sweet for my extra sweet.” Jasper places the steaming cup of coffee on their table and a small plate with a chocolate chip muffin, grinning excitedly at Octavia, who thanks him with a smile before turning her attention back to Clarke. It’s just after the lunch hour rush in the café, volume of customers dispersed that allows the staff to clear up and get ready to close. It’s usually around this time that Octavia gets off from her internship and drops by to get her (definitely not supervisor approved) free cup of coffee while Clarke is finally able to take a much needed break in her shift.

“Did you figure out what her deal is?” She asks her friend, who is currently mid-roll of her eyes towards the boy darting back behind the counter of the café.

“Who?”

“Lexa’s.”

“My mom said they’re still running some tests on her blood samples, best bet so far is that it’s some sort of rare mutation. But it’s weird, this kind of mutation has never been recorded so--”

“I mean, like, romance wise.”

Huh.

“Oh… you’re into her?” Clarke casually pinches a chocolate chip from her muffin.

“No way. I mean I am human, of course I had some thoughts but I’m mostly straight. I think.” Her friend drops casually, as if she didn’t just admit being attracted to Lexa and questioning her sexuality. Which is a weird feeling to have. “Has she shown any interest in anyone?”

Clarke chews her lip for a second, thinking back to the time she’s spent with Lexa. There’s always this… weird energy since The Touching incident as she has dubbed in her mind. Except Lexa is the same and it’s just her that seems to be baffled by it.

“Clarke.”

“Oh, uh, no. Not that I’ve seen anyway… wait, what are you doing?”

“Texting Raven. I think we have a new mission.”

Clarke Griffin would say that her friends are one of the most important things in her life. They support her more than almost anyone else without prompt, they know exactly how to cheer her up when she’s down and they’ve seen her in her worst and have claimed to still love her. So, of course, she treasures them and their friendship.

She loves her friends. Just not right now.

“Seriously do you guys just sit around having nothing to do? Don’t you have jobs?” Clarke groans as she finds herself back in her apartment again with her friends sprawled on her couch, faces illuminated by the light of Raven’s laptop screen. Next to them is Lexa, who is sat up with her back straight like it’s some throne and not a craigslist couch.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t like having us around Clarke. We know you’re too shy to admit it.”

“I really don’t.”

“So, Lexa…” Her friend begins, and she could already tell whatever is about to come next is nothing but trouble.

They are so unsubtle.

Octavia grabs one of the magazines from the coffee table, with a dazzling male celebrity smiling at the front cover coming eye to eye with Lexa. Lexa stares back at it for a moment and then towards Octavia, waiting for further elaboration.

“Would you rather bang this dude or… Clarke?”

“Bang?”

“You know… romance or whatever…”

Clarke is both offended and horrified. First of all, Octavia seemed to be more enthusiastic when presenting the man on the magazine than her. Second of all, the guy on the cover clearly has better lighting and was well prepared upon taking the photo compared to her straight-out-of-a-shift-I-want-to-sleep-for-two-weeks get up so it’s a little bit unfair to make the comparison. Not that she wants to win the competition. That would be absurd-

“Clarke.”  Lexa answers without a beat, looking past the magazine and straight towards her.

Both Octavia and Raven cackle at her deadpan response while Clarke pretends to shuffle items on her shelf to hide the unexpected blush spreading on her cheeks.

In lieu of actually making eye contact with Lexa, Clarke’s focus shifts towards the diabolical pair who have gone back to typing and giggling at the computer.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“We are doing Lexa here a favor.” Raven playfully nudges the stoic girl next to them. But before she could go back to her current task at hand, Clarke had swiped the device from her lap. “You could’ve just asked nicely, Griffin. And don’t drop it!”

" _I like long walks on the beach and sitting around polishing my sword_? Raven?" Clarke reads from the screen, where her friends have taken to liberty to sign up on some obnoxious website with an equally obnoxious bright pink banner. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or berate them.

"What? I don't know a lot about Lexa." Raven frowned before smiling almost giddily “Apart from her taste in women.”

“Oh yeah she has great taste in women.” Octavia adds unhelpfully.

"Why even make a profile in the first place?"

"You don't think she needs someone, Clarke? It's a basic human need... or, whatever Lexa is. But we won't write that here, that's like fifth or sixth date information."

"Almost done. Now, just a quick picture that will make the ladies swoon..." She barely gives Lexa a warning, simply snapping a candid shot of the girl lounging on the couch in her white shirt and sweatpants. "Huh." Even then, the girl looks... "Hot as fuck. How do you manage to do that?" Lexa shrugs in response, not really understanding the massive commotion. But she’s been around the group long enough to expect this kind of thing to happen at least once a week.

Lexa is a bit odd. Not in a negative way. And, to be honest, a majority of it is just this cloud of enigma that surrounds her identity despite Clarke living with her and feeling like she knows a few things about her. There’s this… invisible wall or something that makes her think there’s so much more she’s not getting, so much more she should know. Sometimes she doesn’t feel like she _actually_ knows Lexa.

“You’ve never seen _Matilda_?!” Clarke gasps. It’s mostly humorous but she’s also genuinely shocked that the girl has been deprived of a fantastic childhood role model. She stands up to rummage through her old collection of childhood tapes in the TV cabinet, taking up an unnecessary amount of space are films she used to watch with Jake: a handful of Disney classics and terribly worn out copies of films with smart and brave characters she’s looked up to as a child. It’s the rare Saturday morning where she doesn’t have a shift in the café, she’s been up to date with her reading and there’s no paper due until the week after.

“I know what we’re doing today.”

Before they realize it, the light from the outside has dimmed, replaced with the weak glow of the streetlamp right across the apartment window. Neither really care, with Lexa seeming to be fully absorbed and Clarke… not really able to pay attention to anything else but her companion’s reactions. Lexa would make this expression, so subtle and almost untraceable she will smile when a character does something courageous or heroic even if it’s the most absurd pig character choosing to converse with a bunch of sheep in peace instead of threatening them into submission ( _Babe)._

The sound of the doorbell interrupts the marathon and, yet again, Clarke feels an odd sense of guilt when she looks through the peephole.

"Hey." He's standing in her hallway with that smile and prince charming hair. She should be happy. She is happy. But also, the feeling of dread is back before she could really feel the happiness to identify it as such because his gaze travels from her to the figure on the couch watching _Casper_ with an enraptured expression.

She should step to the side, let him in, chat about life or whatever it is two people with an unspecified romantic undertone do.

Seconds tick by and her grip on the door doesn't seem to loosen. Instead, Clarke steps out and closes the door behind her.

"It's not really a good time." The sentence is weighed more than the current circumstance. It’s not a good time to talk. Not a good time to revisit whatever it is that they are. She's a terrible person. If this was a film and she watched a character do what she was doing right now, she would 'boo' and throw popcorn at the screen.

Finn frowns slightly at that. "You have company?" His question, though not spat accusatorily, is clearly laced implication when he nods towards her shut door. Because she does have company, he knows it, she knows it, her nearly deaf neighbor next door knows it. But the type of company is... an entirely different question.

“Yeah.” Is out of her mouth before she can chase it back.

“Oh... are we…” He begins, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Are we good here?”

“I don’t know, Finn.” Her answer is honest. She owes him that, at least. Even if they’re not in a relationship. Not really. “It’s just…”

“Not a good time. I get it.” He nods with some finality.

When Clarke sits back down on the couch, it's with a huff and her eyes trained forward. It’s the scene where Casper, in his human form, is able to dance with Kat for the first time. Lexa completely ignores the screen in front of her, a hand moves to rest on the space between them, just next to Clarke’s where they’re almost touching. But not quite. Neither of them really speak as the film proceeds to its end.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This story requires a great deal of suspension of disbelief. Cheers.


End file.
